Choose You
by BlackandGreyandInbetween
Summary: Simon has always hated Baz and Baz has always hated Simon, that is the one unwavering constant in Simon's life even as everything else changes around him. What happens when this one thing he always thought he could rely on starts to crumble. M for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Simon**

Normality. That's how it feels to return to Watford after six agonising summer weeks in whatever care home I have been dumped in. It feels like coming home.

As soon as I walk through the opening gates to my school, my home, I am almost swept off of my feet by Penny's embrace, her magic washing over me like a vibrant sea of colour, sinking weeks of restlessness and agitation. I can hardly keep from grinning, so I drown my smile in my best friend's bushy hair. "It's so good to see you!" She squeals and can't stop chattering as we make our way over to Mummer's house so that I can dump my bags, her eyes bright and animated as she recounts her summer; seeing her like this makes me feel more awake than I have for months, as if for once the Normals are the far-fetched dream and not this spectacular world I have come to know as my own. For a second she slows down and stares deep in to my eyes, her stare penetrating me as it always does, yet her eyes are momentarily glassy "Oh Simon, you look terrible" she breathes. "The usual return from the Normals then?" I grin back, unnerved for only a beat and she just laughs, yet the worried crease in her brow remains.

After putting my stuff away, we head over to the dining hall for tea and sour cherry scones- Damn those scones are good. Sometimes I find myself dreaming about them after months of cheap, tasteless food in the summer. "So how's Micah?" I ask Penny through a mouthful of crumbs. Penny's face lights up at the mention of her American boyfriend "he's really good actually, _we_ are really good". I smile at her affectionately. I'm happy for her, for both of them but I can't help the pang of sadness that I feel when I think about her going to live so far away after Watford. "Have you talked to Agatha at all since..?" she inquires. _Agatha._ Although she trails off, both of us know exactly what she's talking about. "No, you know that no one's allowed to contact me in the summer". Penny just nods but looks at me questioningly before sipping the rest of her tea. I look away.

After a few days, I settle into the simple, routine life that Watford offers me. I get used to being around friendly (although sometimes awed) faces instead of the cruel, thuggish ones that surround my summer homes. I get used to the magic in the air, in everyone and in constant use; pencil cases flying across classrooms and Penny reheating food that I take too long to eat. I get used to the luxury of my own room- one that I will not be able to enjoy for long due to the antagonizing existence of my roommate. Baz.

Although I hate to admit it, Baz may have one of the biggest influences on my life here at Watford, and most definitely the worst! He's evil, and I'm sure he's a vampire even though no one believes me. I still can't decipher why he hasn't yet been expelled for the numerous pranks and sometimes even crimes he has committed against me; like that time with the chimera… Merlin, I hate him. Still, he doesn't make the worst roommate- the anathema stops him from harming me inside the room and he keeps all his stuff tidy and out of the way (probably because he's worried that I'll mess it up). None of this stops me from worrying over what he's plotting next though, and I can often barely sleep knowing that he is just across the room, his almost silent breathing still ringing like a warning bell in my ears.

But perhaps the worst part about being roommates with Baz is the way Agatha, my girlfriend, looks at him. And the way he responds. Agatha is beautiful, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, but not arrogant or stupid or silly. Agatha is pretty much perfect, which is why I wonder how she ended up with me- the most defective chosen one ever. No wonder she stares longingly at Baz with his flawless, marble skin and ebony waves of hair, not to mention his amazing power and control of magic. Merlin, I hate him and soon he will return and just about ruin every lesson we share with his constant mocking and unruffled responses every time I try to retaliate. Every time he smirks coolly at Agatha and she can't look away from his cold, grey eyes. Every time he murmurs something in her ear and she giggles like it's the funniest thing she's ever heard. Every time she gazes at him like he's the only boy on the planet.

Merlin, I hate him.

Time passes quickly at Watford, like a spell has been cast over me so that sunny days and tranquil conversations slip through my fingers, ungraspable as leprechaun gold, classes drawing ever nearer. It's not that I don't enjoy school here- it's the only place I feel as if I belong, as if I am tied somewhere or part of something bigger than myself, a crowd of unwanted kids and even my own uncontrollable destiny. I love being here, but I don't love the anxiety that comes with lessons, expectations and, of course, going off. Despite being fore-told for generations, featured in nursery rhymes for magician's children and taken from the unwanted kid's home by the Mage himself, my magic isn't like anyone else's, it doesn't flow through me like a fucking river or liquid fire or however anyone else describes it. When I draw on my powers, it's more like an explosion: irrepressible, wild, deadly.

I saunter slowly across the Great lawn, the last of the burning summer sun preventing me from moving any faster than an amble, even though I know that I'll be late for tea with Penny. As I'm passing past the big, wrought-iron gates I see a car pull up and I stop in my tracks. It's Agatha. I falter, torn between running over to her and pretending that nothing has changed or avoiding her completely. I choose the latter but wait too long and she's seen me and she's waving and she's smiling her pearly white smile (is it me or are her eyes not smiling with the rest of her face?) and in any case it's too late to run away. Raising my hand hesitantly, I try to smile back, all grimacing teeth and snarling lips. Agatha must see through my terrible acting as she stops waving and walks slowly but purposefully over to me. I pull her into an awkward hug that she returns half-heartedly. Smiling weakly into her sky eyes, I ask how her holiday was even though she looks uncomfortable "Fine, nothing out of the ordinary". She doesn't ask me about mine. Everyone stopped asking about my holidays years ago. We exchange a glance and I see in her eyes that she can tell that I saw her and Baz last year. She takes my hands in hers, mine rough and ugly against her porcelain skin. I wonder if the nothing I feel as we touch has always been there. I wonder if it was there the last time I saw her or if she felt a spark when she held Baz's hands like this in the woods last term, a burn of desire as her magic mingled with Baz's fiery one. I take a shuddery breath before I meet her gaze again, trying to make my eyes as unfeeling as possible. "Simon" she whispers and I can feel the pity in her voice as she tells me that we should take another break. As if we haven't had enough already. But this is how it has always been with Agatha; our perfect, inescapable destiny together too boring and too immovable for her, so that she has to pretend that she is free of it, for a time, before she comes back to me. And of course she always comes back. But before then is the awkwardness of her sitting away from me and Penny in the hall, alone and closer to Baz than to us (of course).

I feel the familiar anger stir inside of me as I think of Baz- his insane widow's peak making him as stereo-typical as a villain that tries to steal the hero's girl. The only non-stereo-typical part about him is that it often looks like he might succeed. (She'll come back, she'll come back to me.) (Will she? She will). I say a decidedly unemotional goodbye to Agatha (I'll see her in class) and go to meet Penny, my hopes of a picture-perfect few weeks before lessons begin and my enemy returns dashed in a creamy white hand and a soft voice.

Merlin, I hate him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Baz**

Relief. Coming back to Watford is always a relief, despite everything. Despite prejudice from the Mage. Despite Bunce's close-call attempts to beat me in class. Despite Simon fucking Snow. Watford is a relief.

Soon after a hasty goodbye to my aunt Fiona, I find myself spelling open my bedroom door. _Our_ bedroom door I remind myself as I survey the mess that Snow has made of his side of the room. He always arrives at least a week or two early in order to escape whatever hideous Normal home the Mage has dumped him in at the first possible opportunity. My side of the room remains impeccable throughout the year of course, just like my bedroom at home, although that doesn't come with the golden boy for a roommate. Merlin, I hate him. I arrived in the afternoon and decide to skip dinner in favour of hunting in the catacombs and an early night. I'll just have to face Snow again tomorrow and he's sure to be predictably angry and out of control as always, especially considering the scene that Agatha decided to fabricate last term, practically trying to seduce me in the woods, which Snow happened to stumble upon. What a sweet, innocent, good little girl. As if. I know my father would love it if I dated Agatha; beautiful, rich and with Pitch-worthy manners but the only interest I have in her is messing with Snow. It's grand to see him fuming and riled up all because of one wink in his girlfriend's direction. And anyway, even if I did want her, she wouldn't stay with me for long, she can never stay away from her perfect, destined future with the chosen one for long. All she wants is distraction, a feeling of liberation and choice that will never really be hers. That she never really even wants. Poor sweet Agatha. At least she has a future, while mine is destined to be snatched away early by Simon Snow. Merlin, I hate him.

I always wake up early, and my first morning at Watford is no exception, especially considering Snow's blasted habit of leaving the windows open, bars of filtering light pricking my skin as soon as the sun rises. I slowly survey the room, frowning at Snow's side, his one non-uniform outfit already sprawled across the floor with the rest of his stuff. Finally, I glance at the Chosen One himself, his body curled up in a protective position facing away from me (he's scared that I'm a vampire.) (Which I am although no one believes him). His tawny hair glows gold in the morning sun and I mentally curse him as I run a hand through my own ebony waves, feeling slighted once again at this subtle reminder of my own predicament. Snow is the perfect golden boy, gleaming in the sun while I, through no fault of my own, am confined to shadows and sneaking through dark alleyways, a life of concealment and secrets. A life of unjust treatment and suspicion because of who I am. Because of what I am. A monster.

Proving my point, I feel my fangs start to poke in to my gums as Snow's trade-mark smell of hospitals and soap fills my nostrils and I rise to take a shower. Coming back into our room, I notice Snow stirring; he always wakes up late but gets dressed at record speed just to make sure he can keep feeding that scone addiction he has. I, on the other hand, rise early to feed an addiction of a more sinister kind in the catacombs. He wakes up in a start and I smirk at catching him in such a panicked, vulnerable state. He seems to notice me too as he glares back viscously. "You're back." he says simply and I just raise one eyebrow at his apparent realisation. "Such incomparable observational skills you have Snow" I respond levelly and begin binding my tie in the mirror. He just grunts in response and I roll my eyes. "So how's Wellbelove?" I ask innocently and his attention snaps back to me like a well-trained dog. I see the reflection of his lips behind my own start to rise in a snarl before he calms himself back down- a rare occurrence for Snow, he usually doesn't possess such control. "Fine." he retorts far too quickly and I cock an eyebrow but don't press it further, there will be plenty of time to drive Snow insane this year. I admire my perfectly knotted tie, flash Snow one last well-rehearsed smirk and make for the door, muttering only a quick "Can't wait to see her then" before striding away, well-pleased.

I gracefully stride down the stairs, wondering what's going on between the golden couple and smirking when I remember that it's probably because of me. Honestly, I've never understood her strange fascination with me when she's always had everyone else wrapped around her little finger. But maybe that's it, I'm probably the only person in this whole fucking school that isn't obsessed with her (and that's including the teachers). It must get boring, being perfect which is where I come in- the big bad Pitch that her parents won't approve of, that will shock everyone and mar her spotless image (not permanently of course). Snow's never had this problem because, despite it probably being true that he is the most powerful mage in the world, there is a difference between possessing power and controlling it. And Snow can't control it for shit.

Reaching the Hall, I sit down between Dev and Niall who each greet me with a casual nod of the head and I start pouring myself some tea. After a few minutes of nothingness, Wellbelove walks in, barely looking around before sitting as far as is physically possible from Bunce- I was right then, they must be on another break. I smirk. Only seconds after she has grabbed a plate of food, the doors swing open once again and Snow rushes over to Bunce and begins talking animatedly. I see Agatha staring appraisingly over at the two of them. _Oh_ I laugh to myself. Agatha Wellbelove jealous of shabby Penelope Bunce. Snow must have mentioned her because Bunce looks over at Wellbelove with emotionless eyes that the other girl can't seem to meet. As soon as she looks away, Agatha's eyes immediately lock with mine. It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes as she flutters her eyelashes and gives me what I presume is supposed to be a seductive smile. She is all white teeth and delicate features but I have never been able to fully appreciate her on-the-surface beauty. Her only complexity seems to be her half-hearted rebellions against fate, and even if that had made her even somewhat interesting, she always ruins it by running right back to where she is supposed to be until it seems that nothing ever changed. I give her a long cool look, the corner of my mouth rising slightly, matching her intensity until she grins nervously and trains her sapphire gaze back down to her plate, her cheeks colouring in a doll-like blush.

I look straight over at Snow, to judge his reaction and I'm not disappointed, he is giving me a hard, angry look that I leer at before carrying on with my breakfast. It is definitely a relief to be back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Simon**

Reality. Not even really a feeling, yet that is how I feel- as if reality has finally set in after the break up with Agatha, Baz's return and the start of lessons. The world of Mages is not as flawless as I always build it up to be. But things are going okay. Better than okay really; minimal awkwardness (and interaction) with Agatha, no blowing up in lessons (yet, as Baz likes to remind me) and days spent practicing magic or lounging on the Great Lawn with my best friend. Yes, things are much better than okay.

But not today. After sleeping late and Baz not having the courtesy to wake me for breakfast (Merlin, I hate him), I had to rush down to Politickal Science without a single sour cherry scone. Then I couldn't focus at all with Baz's smoky eyes boring deep holes into the back of my head, making it almost impossible not to turn around and snarl at his perfectly composed face. Penny always tries to help but ends up making it worse, telling me to ignore him, but how can I ignore Baz- my opposite, rival, perfect enemy that I know is destined to die at my hand (or me at his). So of course I return his stare, my eyes turning poisonous as soon as he starts smirking at my gritted teeth and ruffled hair that I didn't have time to tame this morning. By the time the lesson ends, I am itching to get out of the classroom (and Baz's presence) and so I rush straight down to the football pitch with Penny- it's the first match of the term and crowds of students are already starting to throng around the pitch. I don't even know why we still come to watch; Penny has no interest in the game and I'm not good enough for the team, but I suppose that it would feel wrong not to watch in our last year after coming to every match for the past seven just to keep an eye on Baz. And of course, he is as lithe and graceful on the pitch as he has been every day that I have known him- slick and completely unflappable.

 **Baz**

I've always loved football, and not just because it's yet another thing that I am far superior to Snow at, or even just because I am superior at it in general. I love the feel of the wind lashing against my skin and ripping at my clothes. I love the burn in my legs as I push myself forward, forever chasing the ball. I love the distraction, the fact that it makes me feel completely and utterly alive, even if that part is just an illusion. Snow being there does make it better though, so I can stare him down and smirk whenever I score a goal and see his cobalt eyes darken in jealousy when everyone (especially Wellbelove) cheers.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if the Crucible hadn't cast the two of us together. Would I have spent the past seven years pranking, mocking, insulting someone else? Would I have been less careful without the chosen one surveying everything I did and accidentally relieved a human of their blood? Would my family have still nagged and nagged and nagged until I spied and fought and plotted against him at every available opportunity?

My family has always been close, which is why I have been a part of their plans to take down the Mage (and the Mage's heir) for as long as I can remember. The Pitches may be brutal, cold and many would say untrustworthy but we never betray each other as we do everyone else. The Pitches have always been close, that is until my mother died. Now I feel like my house is in an eternal chill, her bright, burning presence extinguished forever, and I can't talk to anyone about anything. Anything important anyway. I had no one to talk to when my mother had just died and I felt like I was being eaten away on the inside from the sorrow. I had no one to help me when my body was aching with blood-lust and I could hardly stand the sight of another person, let alone my step mother's paper cut. I had no one to hold my hand and tell me it was alright when I knew that I didn't like girls and my father kept on at me about continuing the Pitch line. I didn't have anyone, but what I did have was Watford and golden curls, gleaming against a stark white pillow, I had fists and a sharp, cruel, Pitch tongue, I had a thousand failed murder plans for the Mage's heir and I had the absolute, unchangeable, excruciating, unbearable knowledge that Merlin, I didn't really hate him at all. The knowledge that I, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch, am in love with Simon Snow.

And that most definitely is not a relief. But maybe this is what I always wanted. To wait forever.

 **Simon**

The match is not long and Baz's team win with him leading them as striker. I start to leave as soon as the scores are announced, not keen on staying to see the jubilance of the winning team, formally shaking hands with the losers; not dejected for long, but more than willing to join in the celebrations. Just as I am crossing the emptying field on my way to Mummer's house, a flash of sunlight hair gleams in my vision and I stop to glimpse Agatha standing a little ways off, towards the woods. I look over again and realise that she is not alone as I first thought, but staring up at a tall figure in football shorts, half hidden in the shadows of the trees, his eyes locked not on her but me.

 **Baz**

Triumph. Triumph is staring at Snow until he loses his cool. Triumph is making him late for lessons so that his hair sticks up in a wild halo around his head and not the half-tamed cap of curls he usually wears. Triumph is the anger on Snow's face when Agatha is after me and I can pretend that his jealousy is over me and not her.

I can practically smell smoke as Snow starts fuming, or maybe that is just his normal scent. (His magic smells of smoking green wood and campfires.) (I shouldn't know this.) I can see him hesitating, eyes staring in to mine and I am captivated. I cannot look away. Before I can see if he has decided to walk over, I'm distracted by Agatha, stepping even closer to me. "I know you feel it too Basil." She murmurs as if she alone can speak my name. "I know when our eyes meet across the hall. I know when you whisper those sly comments in my ear. I know when you sweep me away from Simon on the dance floor. I _know_." I laugh quietly at her and respond coolly "Agatha, whatever you think you know is wrong. You are destined to a golden life with the golden boy. I'm destined to die alone and I think you know that no one can change that- least of all us." I look back up and Snow has gone. She's getting angry now, eyes are flashing as she responds "Why does no one ever ask me what I want? I thought that you at least would understand, I never agreed to Simon Snow and having my whole life planned out before me!" I step back coldly, somehow surprised by her honesty yet disgusted at her selfishness- "And I never agreed to be the bad guy in someone else's hero story, so if you know how to escape destiny, make sure to let me know." I snarl looking back down at her before side-stepping around her to head back to my room. She grabs my arm, her eyes shining up pleadingly at mine "maybe I just want something different! No one else around here is in the least bit interesting." She cries, her voice rising in pitch as she gets more and more flustered. "Well good luck finding interesting in this stupidly predictable fairy tale world, Agatha" I practically spit before ripping my arm from her grasp and stalking away.

This is not triumph.

Because no matter how hard she tries, neither of us have a hope in hell of evading fate. I know this because I'm half-way there already. Purgatory is being a vampire, hated and forever alone. It is being roommates with the boy you love, who can never, ever love you back. It is never being able to share your feelings with anyone or crush them in to non-existence, but I'm not in hell yet. Hell is never being able to see Simon Snow's face again, or taunt him in to a frenzy just to make him feel something, anything towards you. And I'm not there yet. I'm just on the wrong side in a fairy tale, the big bad wolf that can't stop the prince marrying the princess.

When I get back to our messy fucking room, Snow is already there. I spin on my heel ready to leave, but he is still mad, his magic practically sparking on his skin. "What the fuck was that?" he growls and, as I turn slowly back around, I can't help my heart sinking at his wretched features, yet he can't know that so I focus on composing my face into the usual, sneering mask. "I don't know what you're talking about" I respond, smirking coolly in the way I know will drive him closer and closer to the edge. "Just stay away from my girlfriend." he snaps and then I can't help myself because that word scratches my skin and my soul "Ex-girlfriend remember Snow?" His eyes blur, his face contorted in a frantic grimace and that's it. I know I have gone too far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Simon**

Fury. His words are like bullets exploding in my ears. I may try to shoot him back, but his icy tongue whips my gun astray; every attempted slight and insult thrown back in my reddening face. I study Baz, my rage-filled vision distorting his cold beauty in to something else. Smirking lips, guarded eyes, a blackened heart- I know my enemy. By now I also know that he never rests and I feel Baz's amused smile and taunting voice in every pound of my quivering heart. Here, in our room, where fists must be snarling mouths and punches a cool voice, I can never win. But still I fight.

With every escaping breath I lash but he deflects me time and time again, furious words turned empty and twisted in his slender fingers. Everything about him makes my mind spin, grinds my teeth and clenches my fists until I must give in.

One fluid, uncontrollable movement and I have grasped his collar in a shaking hand and he is flat against the wall. No escape. Silence rings in my ears and I take pleasure in his for once motionless lips and widening eyes. But again they darken and I know that I have not beaten him for long. Here, the anathema stops me from hurting him. Here, I cannot rip those deadly, amused eyes from his pale face. Here, I cannot beat him down to a bloody pulp just to watch the smile leave his grinning lips. So instead I meet them with my own.

 **Baz**

For a heartbeat I cannot react. Snow is kissing me.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening.

Simon Snow is kissing me. I am kissing Simon Snow.

 **Simon**

Passion. Our lips are crashing together. Forceful, angry, alluring. For a thousand moments I am lost in melting rage and ignorance as Baz begins to respond. We quickly break apart and, breathing heavily, stare at each other. His eyes are liquid silver, searching my resolute gaze, his furrowed brow for once unsteady. Unbidden, thoughts race through my mind as I study Baz's blown pupils before me, horror and confusion at what has just happened quickly flattened by intrigue and need. Need for more. Somehow in unison, we both move together at the same time and suddenly it is happening again.

Hatred-fuelled kisses are met with viscous pulls of hair and bleeding lips. I struggle to bend Baz to my will, insults chased by hungry tongues. I drown him in my touch until words of precision and hate are lost to angry moans. I bite his marble skin, sucking the life from his sculpted neck as if it was me that was the vampire. Still he retaliates; claiming my bruising lips, hardened eyes, marking my tender skin. I know him. After warily watching him always, he has burst into every dream: nemesis, stalker, abuser, his grey sky gaze more familiar to me than myself. And this is not nothing- fingertips dancing like flames on my bare skin and kisses that send electricity sparking through my entire body are what I have been missing.

Scratching nails give way to tangled limbs and I can no longer tell our bodies apart. His lips are rougher than Agatha's but soft and searing, every touch filling my veins with icy fire. When we pull apart I take in every inch of him, his flawless granite skin marked by purple bruises, his carved lips kissed and swollen, his swirling irises made of molten rock. My breath is ragged, my hair tousled and my eyes wild as his usually graceful legs stumble from the room. Finally, he is unnerved.

I smile.

 **Baz**

Confusion. I kissed Simon Snow.

But Snow isn't gay (Is he?). Snow didn't kiss me (He did). He hates me (He didn't stop it). What the fuck is happening.

This is not good for me. It's not good that that kiss was better than all the times I imagined it; fighting for dominance, melting him in my tender hands until he moans for me, because of me. Thinking about this is not good for me. Trust Snow to confuse anger and sexual tension. Because Snow isn't gay. (Is he?)

Ever since end of 5th year and the almost relieving realisation that I would never be able to fulfil what I always knew the families would want of me (to kill the Mage's heir) I have tried my hardest to bury the feelings exploding inside of me, setting me on fire. But at the back of mind I have always known that Simon Snow will be my demise because I cannot kill him and one of us is destined to die. That year I tried everything to escape what I was feeling: avoiding him completely (so he followed me around like an abandoned sheep), walking away in the middle of arguments (which just drove him insane) and even trying to end it all with the fucking chimera. Good luck allowed Snow to go off that day and keep himself alive. Bad luck kept me alive too. This would all be easier if I was dead. Pity I don't have a death wish. I pace outside all night in a futile attempt to sift through what is going on in my mind and what has gone wrong in Snow's. I suppose one could say that that he has found a way to fight without breaking the roommate's anathema. Ridiculous. I sleep fitfully in the catacombs, not trusting myself to return to Snow's presence because of what has just happened and the renewed emotions burning inside of me, my flammable body licked by orange flames yet bathed in the memory of skin brushing delicate skin.

The next day is pure torture.


	5. Chapter 5

**Simon**

My mind is in chaos and I don't know where to start, so I decide not to think. I just focus on feelings, without wondering where they come from or what they might mean. I'm used to this- shutting my mind off when I can't cope with the rowdy thoughts running through my brain like when I found out that magic is real, that I was supposedly some kind of chosen one and now when it feels like the one unwavering constant in my life has become utterly unrecognisable.

So, I feel confusion. Passing in the corridors, eyeing me from across crowded, empty classrooms, I see something new in Baz and it makes my pulse race. My stomach clenches in feeling: not quite regret, not quite longing, not quite anger. Today my thoughts are not of classes, but of the science of his dilating pupils; anger and hunger crushed together forming something else entirely.

My day is spent dodging Penny and questioning glances concerning unfamiliar bruises and, once again, our secret binds enemies together. Merlin, I hate him. Yet my hate draws me ever closer, ebony hair calling to fumbling fingers, deadly lips aching for ivory teeth. I hate him. (Do I?) Because every glance in my direction is a pale, slender hand against my cheek. Every dark eyed smirk cutting through my skin and my soul. I don't think about what any of this means, except that I am not the same.

The day passes far too quickly, a haze of disregarded lessons and incoherent conversations sliding unstoppably past me until I suddenly find myself leaning against an old oak tree on the lawn with Penny's head resting on my legs, gazing distantly at the slowly setting sun. The red-streaked beauty of the fading rays painted across the sky is lost on my un-seeing eyes as I spend far too much time not thinking the unthinkable. I am snapped out of my disjointed reverie by the prickling along my neck that comes with Penny's wide-eyed stare. Her cryptic gaze makes me feel immediately uncomfortable, as if she really can pierce my thoughts with those sharp eyes and see everything I am thinking. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong Simon?" her voice is low, as if trying to reassure me that she is trustworthy, that I can bleed all my secrets to her and no one else has to know, as if I need reminding that she is the only reliable person in my life. I shift awkwardly and debate telling her everything, just to let her quick mind scrutinise it all and tell me exactly what is going on, but I can't. Not this time when the secret I have to unfold is so illogical, so unexpected even to myself. "Nothing at all" I respond lightly forcing my face in to an optimistic smile, although even I can tell that it looks strained. She sits up and searches my gaze once more, but if she sees anything decides not to push it and just nods unintelligibly. I breathe an inaudible sigh of relief.

As Penny turns back to regard the vividly progressing sky, I look back out across the lawn and almost jump at the unimposing presence pacing towards us. Baz's silhouette is tall, long-limbed and elegant even now as he abruptly stops his careful strides, eyes flickering between me and Penny in the orange-tinted light. I can barely breathe as he stands there watching us, the weight of his heavy-lidded gaze filling me with indescribable emotions that I can no longer stand and so I jump up, forcing those feelings in to submission and replacing them with an ancient fury instead. "What do you want?" I snarl, feeling a twinge of something unfamiliar as Baz all but winces at my tone. "Looking for Agatha? Well she's not here so you can piss off and leave us alone. Leave her alone while you're at it too." In less than a moment's hesitation his old walls are up (for that is what I know them as now-walls guarding something completely different) and he is sneering down at me once again. "If I were looking for Agatha all I would have to do is call and she would come". He smirks and I glance over at Penny's sympathetic look. At her he-might-kind-of-have-a-point look and I scowl back at him before stalking heatedly closer and closer until my eyes are level with the long slope of his nose. Slowly, I raise my palms and push him as hard as I can. He isn't expecting it somehow, after everything and ends up sprawled on the floor. Penny gasps and rushes over as I advance on him, his composed features suddenly driving me insane. "Simon! Stop it!" she cries grasping my arm and pulling me away. "Pushing leads to fighting Simon, and we both know what fighting leads to." Baz calls nonchalantly after us and I can barely keep from shaking as he adds "you could just ask you know."

In some way, impossibly so, it seems that everything and nothing has changed.

 **Baz**

Desire. Tonight I retire early to our room, daggers in my stomach simultaneously pushing me away from the wary stares of Niall and Dev at my discoloured neck and preventing me from avoiding Snow any longer, but as I am walking back to our room I see him sitting there next to Bunce and his presence stops me short. For some reason, what happened last night seems to be making him ten times more angry than before and so I run straight back up to our room after Bunce pulls him away and tensely await his return amid the security of the anathema. The minutes tick by so slowly until he returns and I get more and more restless. I perch cautiously on his bed and wait, anxiety clenching my stomach in knots and perspiring on my usually cool skin because I have no idea about what is going to happen when he comes back and I have never felt this out of control.

His arrival is like a poisonous arrow racing towards my chest. Sharp and hard yet satisfyingly unavoidable. Predatorial. Hunger gleams unversed in his cobalt eyes, his locked jaw barely concealing hatred as he shoves me hard on to the floor for the second time this day. I know immediately that he won't ignore me, maybe I should've avoided him longer. Our eyes meet for one intense moment, that clear, cornflower blue searching tirelessly in my own momentarily unguarded gaze until his lips claim mine once again, his blazing touch scorching my fragile skin and fusing our bodies until we move as one. More than I could have ever hoped for, yet still somehow not enough, my entire body aches for Simon Snow, golden curls and the smell of smoke. He is abrasive and physical, still fighting even if it has to be like this where our weapons are harsh fingers and lingering kisses, the wounds we inflict goose bumps and moans of submission and of course I fight him back, because this is more than I ever expected to have, ever dared to dream of- I can make Snow shudder beneath my fingers and draw notes of desire as if I was playing my violin. His hands are in my hair, each pull a needle prick against my scalp sending fiery arousal racing through my entire body. My fingers stroke against his throat eliciting deep groans every time my nails scratch gently at his skin. Hands slip lower and our brutal rhythm is fragmented by bursts of whirling pleasure and fireworks against my eyelids.

Gradually, my thudding heart slows- coarse nails smoothing in to delicate fingers, scratches lulled into soft caresses and perhaps we are fighting no longer, maybe we never were. I know that I haven't hated him for years although his feelings have never matched mine about anything- least of all about each other. Yet his hands still grasp at me and tug softly at my hair. Yet every touch still jolts my body alive. Yet he still doesn't say no. And I never could resist him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Simon**

Regret. When I awake to stale breathe against my cheek, I know that something has come undone, and this time everything is different. Gazing down at Baz's tranquil, sleeping face, the sneer and ferocity of his waking soul erased, I cannot call to mind the burning anger that has for 7 years accompanied his presence. The presence of my enemy. With the hard lines of his cold features smoothed in to innocence, I know that the stability of my hatred has charred to ash and dust and now I am floating, adrift in space. We may stand on opposing battlefields, still pawns in someone else's game, but what if I have lost the will to win? The will to fight? Together, we have burnt our sure, suspicious relationship to the ground and the damage cannot be fixed. Still, who am I to place blame? It was me that blew one simple idea, a spark, in to a raging, scorching flame. That in one simple kiss obliterated everything and for no reason other than that I wanted to. But worse, even as the gloom of destruction weighs heavily in my mind, a wave of new thought is building- unfamiliar, unexplored, dangerous and yet everything is new and thrilling; I never could say no to an adventure.

Still, I prefer not to think.

Carefully, I extract myself from the pile of limbs that we have created and stagger from the room before Baz has time to wake, before I have time to think. Everything seems odd today. The sunlight too bright, scalding my watery eyes. Everyone is too loud and there are so many people. Penny is for once not a release or distraction but too curious; drawing attention to things that I cannot think about, let alone tell her about. Automatically, my eyes scan the crowds but the one person I always search for is not detectable and I don't think about the disappointment that this realisation brings. Slowly, I struggle through the day- lesson after lesson endured as I refuse think, refuse to acknowledge the writhing mess of emotion burning inside my stomach.

Maybe it's time to think.

 **Baz**

Snow is gone when I wake up, leaving only the lingering scent of flames on my clothes and the ghost of his hand tracing my jaw to show that, whatever may have happened, it was not another far-fetched daydream. I know that this spark of hope that he has blown in to a flame is destined to burn me alive, but I can't stop myself from aching for more. My head is pounding and my stomach squirming in deadly anticipation so I decide to stay locked in the room for the day and avoid lessons, distractions, but mostly a certain golden haired boy.

Overwhelmed. Everything that has happened in the space of just a few short days has left me drowning and unable to catch a breath. Between trying to figure out just what the hell is happening and being cornered by Snow I haven't had a single chance to sort through what I am feeling and, quite frankly, I have no fucking clue as to what Snow thinks he is doing. (Not that I'm complaining of course). But even though these brief, mind-spinning encounters are more than I ever could have hoped for, they are still pushing me further and further towards breaking point because now that Snow has set a precedent, allowed a small flicker of hope that maybe, one day my feelings could be reciprocated, I know that I am bound to be disappointed and heart-broken worse than all these past years combined. Luckily for me, he isn't as stupid as I make him out to be, he did walk out today after all. All throughout these past, torturous years I have struggled against my feelings, trying my best to break free of their restraints, beat them into nothingness but I've been looking at it the wrong way. Instead of fighting against him, I should've protected myself, instead of plotting ways to be rid of him, I should've gotten out while I still could. Yet how could I have predicted this? Something so close to what I have always wanted yet still so far. Every gentle caress pulling me farther in, losing myself in him, allowing me to keep up the pretence just a little longer. And now I can't seem to let go.

But every time it is so _good_ and even though I know it does me no good, I cannot refuse him and his azure eyes and his halo of curls. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had never met Snow, never lost my sense and my heart to the boy with responsibilities bigger than himself, but now I am almost glad to have loved him, glad that he has cracked my icy shell just a little and I have given everything I have to a few exhilarating moments. Without him, my life would be nothing but a wallow of despair and self-hatred but knowing that he is alive and he is well and he is powerful enough to defeat anything that can challenge him has made me worth something. It is better to have loved and lost than to feel nothing, and I have loved and lost more than most. Because amongst everything that I hope, dream and think is the irrefutable knowledge that what we have cannot continue; love is wanting the best for someone, no matter the personal loss and the only thing that I know with any lucidity is that I am not good for Simon Snow, and now he's gone anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

**Simon**

Clarity is harder to reach than it sounds, especially when there are things that I cannot bare to consider, let alone admit to myself. The one thing that _is_ clear is the hunger. The burning want, desire that I have never experienced so painfully obviously before. I am no stranger to want, no stranger to pushing the things I want to the back of my mind to stop myself from drowning in the absence of things I can never have, but nothing; not the futile want for affection and love of any kind, not the pointless longing for someone, anyone to see beyond the expectations, not the vain craving for the perfect life that almost seems like a reality with Agatha, has ever submerged me like this.

I cannot deny this yearning for scorching touch, kisses that melt my whole body that I have never experienced before. When I touch Baz there is no absence as there was with Agatha. The emotions and the sensations are almost too much. And Agatha never kissed me like that. Like kissing was something thrilling.

But that's the other thing I have to consider; Agatha. My future. _Our_ future. A faultless future, a better future than I ever hoped for growing up in a care home, where I am special and I take home the beautiful princess at the end of the story- not the prince of darkness, the villain. And that is where all considerations cease, where I cannot continue my train of thought as I do not know where it might lead because when did Baz shift from enemy to friend? To more than friend? There has only ever been two options, only one of us making it out alive.

And this is the only time I have ever thought, maybe I don't want it to be me.

 **Simon**

Lessons seem to take even longer than usual today, and I am so distracted that it is quite a miracle that nothing seems to have blown up, excepting of course Penny's curiosity which appears to have magnified a hundred-fold over night. But despite her careful scrutiny and unmatched intelligence, it seems that anything connecting me and Baz other than mutual hatred and aggression is not considerable, even for her. And so, although she gives up her half-hearted attempt at ignoring my increasingly sour mood, she gives in only to cautiously worded questions regarding Agatha and the breakup I keep forgetting to mourn. Instead of sweetness and light, my mind is concerned only with fire and ice. With battling natures and intensity. With sculpted cheekbones and carved tendons. With the single thought that I can't quite stop myself from thinking. That I can't quite allow myself to think. The thought that ties everything together and will at last bring illogical reason to everything.

Instead I focus on Penny's questions and grasping on to the lingering strands of disappointment that accompanied my last talk with Agatha and the faint hope I can somehow derive from the longing looks she is beginning to send my way again, trying to convince myself that she is still the only one I want. That fate is still the only think I believe in. And so, I smile gently, encouragingly back at her, even though the usually uplifting sight of her building hope seems to be dousing me with icy water.

Penny eyes me closely yet again at lunch, but doesn't give into interrogation, at least not this time, and I busy myself with stuffing my face as usual to try and ignore the fact that her razor gaze is slicing me in half.

"I think it's good." she says suddenly and switches her attention towards her plate of food as I turn towards her, but she doesn't elaborate.

"Um...What's good?" I choke through a mouthful of crumbs.

"You know, Agatha's gone and it's just back to you and me" she bumps me with her shoulder "Like old times- no drama."

"No drama! But before Agatha we spent all our time dodging the Humdrum, solving mysteries and following Baz around."

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean, No _Agatha_ drama"

I chuckle "Yeah I guess you're right, Agatha does kinda make everything into a big deal"

"Exactly" She says smugly. She acts like she never liked Agatha, but I think its just the fact that everything does seems to revolve around her and me and us when she's around, like we don't have other stuff to deal with.

"You know, I was thinking, things have been relatively quiet this term- especially on the Baz front..."

I look at her. She's busy sipping her tea and I don't think she seems suspicious.

I shrug. "He's still a git but I guess I'm learning to tolerate him."

Penny laughs "About time!"

I manage to crack a small smile and swiftly change the subject, feeling relief blossom in my chest when Penny goes along with it, and then something else unfurl when I see Agatha walking briskly towards us.

I stare down at my plate while Penny greets her casually and maybe a little coolly but I can still feel her watching me closely, wanting me to stare back.

I only look up when she addresses me directly and it takes everything I have to smile warmly up at her as she slides onto the bench in-between me and Penny but I'm confused. Since when has it been so hard to smile at Agatha? Just the sight of her milky white hair and doll eyes used to make me want to grab hold of her and never let go.

"So Simon, isn't it time we talked?"

I can see the nerves in her wide-eyed open expression, hope and confidence melting into uncertainty when I hesitate. But then I remember- this is Agatha, this is what we do, this is how it is meant to be.

Although the thought doesn't fill me completely with reassurance like it usually does, it's enough and I blurt out a "yes" before I can change my mind and her eyes finally soften when I nod my head vigorously although the fervour drains away as she grins and turns to start talking animatedly at Penny, who looks less than enthused.

And then I smile. Everything is back to the way it should be. Me and Agatha together again, Penny rolling her eyes fondly at her, a polished future carved in marble.

And Baz. I look over at him across the hall and our eyes meet. I see myself reflected in the glassy mirror of his irises and time slows for an instant, all my hesitation and doubt flooding back along with the want and passion and _ache_. Since when has this tide of emotion, not remotely to do with hatred been there? Since when has his presence been tied to every state of mind and every decision I make? Since when have I been in lo—

Agatha nudges me with her elbow.

I feel hot all over, like liquid fire is running through my veins, heat pulsing through my every fibre

"Are you ok?" she asks, confused

His eyes are dark, not with venom but icy hunger and desire and I feel my own dilated pupils mirroring his.

"Simon!"

I blink and turn away.

"Agatha?"


End file.
